


Three Unspoken Principles

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Gwen (Merlin), Episode: s04e08 Lamia, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin Canon Fest, Merlioske-friendly, Protective Arthur, Scars, Self sacrificing Merlin, magical reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26697172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: As Arthur struggles to establish the principles that will govern his ruling council, Merlin is injured in an attack by a monster known as the Lamia. But in the course of caring for Merlin’s injuries, Arthur discovers uncomfortable truths about the identity of the sorcerer who killed his father. Whose advice should he turn to when deciding Merlin’s fate?
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 396
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11, Merlin Canon 2020





	Three Unspoken Principles

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to the mods for keeping this wonderful fest alive. Written for the ‘hiding an injury or illness’ square on my hurt/comfort bingo card.

***

The day when King Uther died also marked the inflicting of another, less well-publicised injury. 

“Hold still, Merlin,” admonished Gaius, his voice scratchy with concern. “The wound is deep. I should bathe it and stitch it. And you should take some tincture of poppyseed and rest.” 

There was so much blood. And it hurt. Gods, how it hurt. But no matter how much Merlin’s muscles cramped with wave after wave of overwhelming pain, Merlin could not afford to take the draught that Gaius offered him, nor to indulge his need to sleep. 

Why did Arthur have to be such a quick swordsman? He had managed to penetrate Dragoon’s robes and through Merlin’s leather under-shirt before Merlin had knocked him out. And now Merlin was nursing a long, deep gash along his ribs. 

“I have no time. I must go back to Arthur. He has lost his father,” said Merlin, breathing so fast that he was almost sobbing, blinking back at tears that stung at his eyes. “He’ll need me there. He’ll expect me there.” 

“But the wound—” 

“Won’t kill me. Just… just pull it tight and I’ll hide it with a glamour.” 

“You’ll be no good to him if it festers,” Gaius pointed out, but he put the cloth between Merlin’s teeth for him to scream against and braced his knee against the cot in readiness. 

“I have to go,” said Merlin around the bandage. “He will miss me if I don’t. He can never know that I was Dragoon. ” 

“You risk it not healing properly,” warned Gaius, but he pulled tightly at the bandage in tacit acknowledgment that Merlin was correct. 

Biting down on the cloth, Merlin screamed between his teeth until he was hoarse, welcoming the agony, the darkness that blurred his vision as Gaius bound his injury. 

He deserved it. He had used magic, albeit in disguise, in front of Arthur, all optimistic that this would be a new beginning, and instead had killed Arthur’s father, albeit inadvertently. Stupid. Stupid! He should have known that Agravaine and Morgana would have subverted his act of healing, should have guarded against it. But he didn’t, and now Uther was dead, and Arthur would turn more against magic than ever… For his oversight and stupidity, Merlin deserved all the pain in the world. 

“All right?” Gaius’s face loomed down at him and kept swimming in and out of focus as he removed the cloth from Merlin’s mouth. 

Nodding, Merlin swallowed down another sob at the sharp stab of agony that twisted in his side and grimaced. “I will have to be.” 

He closed his eyes, centering himself as best he could, before taking in a long breath through his nose and exhaling sharply. Setting his jaw against the pain, he muttered a brief spell against the wound bleeding too much. As the magic hit him, so did a wave of exhaustion that made his legs buckle for a moment. Gods. He could sleep for a week. Fat chance of that, though, with the king dead and all the preparations for the succession to be dealt with. Most of all, Arthur would need his support to get through the next few days. He could not afford to be injured. Not now. 

The distant clang of the alarm bell told him that the dead king and unconscious prince had been found. 

“I have to go.” 

There would be time enough to sleep when he was dead. 

***

A few days after Arthur’s father died, Arthur convened his High Council, ostensibly with a view to capturing the sorcerer responsible for Uther’s death. But there was another, more hidden motive. 

Camelot’s High Council, being composed almost entirely of Uther’s yes-men, was long overdue for a clear-out. As Arthur blinked at them all around the table, inwardly he sized them up, measuring them against an inward tally of their past decisions - successes, failures, and prejudices. No doubt every person around the table knew that their judgment was being scrutinised. The tension in the room was palpable.

“The sorcerer who murdered my father may have vanished, but that does not mean that we do not wish to find him,” he began mildly, setting the agenda for today’s discussion. As he spoke he watched each council member for their reactions to his words. It was a test, but only Arthur knew what he was looking for. 

“Indeed, my lord.” said Sir Termagent, one of Uther’s whiskery bastion of leather-faced advisors. Overfed, overbearing and over-fond of the sound of their own voices, not one of them could be relied on to raise any objections or ideas of their own. “You are so right. My lord is so wise. Find him we must!” 

“Here, here!” murmured a chorus of assenting voices. For there were many sycophants around the table. 

Soon, there would be a lot fewer. Termagent, being the most eager to establish his position by agreeing vehemently with everything that Arthur said, would be one of the first to go. Termagent and his ilk merely wished to consolidate their position at court and added nothing to the council’s deliberations or actions. He needed to be replaced by someone whom Arthur could count on to voice an honest opinion as soon as possible. The first principle of Arthur's reign, he thought, should be no sycophants. Everyone needed to pull their weight. 

He had talked this over with Merlin, before. Arthur found himself wanting to catch Merlin’s eye as a sort of mental note for them to talk about Termagent later, but Merlin was swaying at his elbow, waxy-faced and glass-eyed, no doubt fatigued after celebrating Arthur’s coronation at the tavern. Arthur hoped he wouldn’t fall over and embarrass them both. 

“But how are we to find this sorcerer, sire?” said Gaius with a frown. “He has disappeared utterly. None of our patrols could find any trace of anyone who lived up to his description.” 

Ah, Gaius. Gaius, Arthur would keep close. Besides his undoubted knowledge and medical expertise, his loyalty was unquestioned. More importantly he lacked personal ambition. A seeker of truth, motivated by the wellbeing of the people in his care, he would consider every side of the question - and not be afraid to voice his true opinion. Besides which, he’d been a thorn in Termagent’s side for years. Arthur allowed himself a wry smile at that thought. 

Gaius would stay. 

“Perhaps the sorcerer, being a murderer of great cunning and adept at the dark arts, had disguised himself with magic,” said Agravaine. 

Arthur nodded. Agravaine’s opinion, as that of an elder who understood Uther’s viewpoint, was valuable. Besides which, Agravaine had voiced his own private thoughts. The sorcerer had such a familiar look to him. Although unable to pinpoint exactly what it was about him that Arthur recognised, there was something deep inside him that was sure he had seen this man before. And it was comforting to have Agravaine by his side - anchoring, even, to have a reminder of Arthur’s family at a time like this. Agravaine would stay. 

“In that case,” objected Gaius, “he will be even more difficult to find. It will be a waste of time to search Camelot, besides which it would alienate your people so soon after your coronation, sire. I would strongly recommend…”

“Except that I wounded him,” Arthur said, delivering his bombshell. “He has a deep gash in his side. I am sure of that. Has anyone sought medical attention with such an injury, Gaius? Think on it.” 

Gaius raised an eyebrow, blinking rapidly. “No, sire. I don’t believe so. Although I will have to check my records.” 

“Do so. And have anyone who has come to you with such a wound sent to me.” Snapping his fingers, Arthur motioned for Merlin to bring him some water. “All of you. Keep a look-out at training for any knights showing signs of a hidden injury.”

“My lord.” Leon snapped his heels together and bowed his head. “As you command.” 

Ah, Leon. Arthur’s most loyal knight. Calm and reliable in a crisis. Leon would of course stay. 

Merlin stepped forward, proffering a goblet, which Arthur took and Merlin started to fill. 

“Sire,” said Gaius. “Are you sure that the sorcerer intended to kill Uther?” 

“Of course, he’s sure,” said Agravaine, smoothly. “Why else would he run away? It is an obvious admission of guilt.” 

At that moment, Merlin’s hand shook so much that he spilled water on Arthur’s hand. 

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled as water spilled all over his breeches. 

“Sorry, sire,” croaked Merlin. 

“What you do in your free time is no business of mine, Merlin, but when you’re so hungover that you can’t actually fulfil your duty, that is another matter entirely.” Arthur dabbed ineffectually at his lap with the tablecloth. “I should have you put in the stocks.” 

“Sorry, sire.” Contrite, Merlin backed away. “I’ll just go and get into the stocks now, shall I…?” 

“You’ll stay where you are,” Arthur growled. 

Because the truth was that he wanted Merlin by his side, hungover or no. Without Merlin, none of this – the suck-up nobles, the quarrelling elders, Arthur’s vast and encompassing sense of panic when he realised that his father was never coming back – none of it would be remotely bearable. 

***

Weeks passed, and still the sorcerer managed to remain hidden. For a moment during the crisis when Gaius was kidnapped and taken to the Mines of Kemeray, Arthur had managed to convince himself that it had been Gaius himself in disguise who had killed his father, but the cold truth of the matter was that the sorcerer had vanished. Whether he recovered from his injury or not, Arthur would never know. 

Soon afterwards he had cause to be even more alarmed when a Lamia, another monster in disguise, nearly managed to defeat a patrol made up of some of his closest companions. Despite all Agravaine’s objections, Arthur had insisted on coming to find the missing patrol, and he had never been more glad of his own decision, for he had only managed to find them in the very nick of time. 

Arthur tried then and there to understand what had happened, but the knights could remember little of their experiences, and Gwen remained tight-lipped about it, insisting that Merlin had been the one to fight the Lamia, not the knights, and that she had to defend him. As for Merlin, he was uncharacteristically quiet, but he corroborated Gwen’s story, such as it was. But he was still pale and shaky, as if coming down with some sort of sickness, or wounded by his fight in the Lamia, although he refused to let anyone examine him. They needed Gaius’s opinion. 

Frustrated, Arthur led a subdued party back to the village where he had left Gaius, hoping to meet the physician there. But Gaius was gone, already returned to Camelot after an urgent summons. After a brief discussion, the decision was made to follow him there. 

As they rode, Arthur’s worry over Merlin’s health only grew. Glassy-eyed and listless, shivering and feverish… Merlin was barely managing to cling on to his horse’s reins. Arthur kept darting surreptitious glances his way to check that he was not about to fall, and it seemed that he was not the only one to be concerned. 

“We should stop for the night, sire,” said Gwen, clearly sharing Arthur’s thoughts. “I think Merlin is sick. Or possibly injured. He does not look like he will be able to carry on much further.” 

He considered her words. She had earned a place by his side, today. Her bravery and good judgment had saved the day against the insidious enemy, this Lamia, he was sure of that. Plus, she had saved Merlin. Arthur’s heart had nearly stopped when he had stumbled across her protecting him where he lay motionless on the floor. 

If she had been a man he would reward her with a knighthood. At the very least, he would install her as a close advisor on his council. His inner circle of advisors was beginning to take shape. 

Although Merlin had stubbornly refused to let anyone examine him, insisting that he was fine and that he could wait to see Gaius, it was clear that the idiot was far from fine. His usual litany of inconsequential complaints had dried up altogether and he had barely spoken two words as they rode.

“He needs to see Gaius,” objected Gwaine. “He’s injured, can’t you see?” 

Arthur glanced over to Merlin again and cursed inwardly. There was an ominous dark stain soaking through one side of Merlin’s tunic. He did not know much about medicine, but he had seen enough battles to know that no good could come of an injury to that part of his body.

“Of course I can see that, Gwaine,” Gwen argued. “But he will fall off his horse if he carries on much further.” 

It was a measure of how sick Merlin was that he did not object to them discussing his welfare as if he were not even present. His head lolled and he blinked, as if struggling to focus. Arthur needed to make a decision, and swiftly. 

“We should stop now,” said Elyan. “Send word for Gaius to come here.” 

“That’s just wasting time,” objected Gwaine. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. All this arguing could be very wearing, sometimes. Although he mostly favoured a more collegiate style of leadership than his father, there were times when he wished that they would all just shut up. 

“I vote we take him back,” said Percival.

“Oh, since when were you medically qualified?” said Elyan. “Gwen knows about this stuff. She’s right, he can’t carry on like this.”

“Obviously, we should leave the boy here, sire,” said Agravaine. “He is only a servant. And we need to get back to the village before nightfall. He is holding us up. Your father would have have left him th—”

“Enough.” Arthur lifted a finger to stop their squabbling. “Llamrei is fresh and strong enough to carry two. Merlin will sit on my saddle in front of me. Elyan can lead his horse.” 

Agravaine opened his mouth to object but seeing Arthur’s face closed it again. How little he knew of Arthur, even suggesting such a thing. For the second rule of Arthur's reign, even stronger than the first, would be that he would never leave anyone behind at the mercy of the enemy, the elements or the bandits that infested the wildlands. It was a principle that had served him well, over the years. His knights, his allies, his people - all of them trusted him, because they knew he would never abandon them. 

With help from Elyan and Gwaine, Percival manoeuvred Merlin down from his steed and hoisted him up in front of Arthur with a gentleness that belied his great size and strength. Arthur encircled his waist, pulling him in tight. Merlin hissed out a protest between his teeth. Something must have caught at the wound. Arthur shifted his hold with an apologetic murmur

“S’ all right,” stuttered Merlin before sagging forward like a rag doll. 

With Arthur holding on to his manservant, they were able to make a better speed and made it to Camelot before the light faded. But when they laid him out on a pallet for Gaius to examine, head lolling, eyes fluttering closed, his pallor betrayed the amount of blood that he must have lost. Arthur feared for the worst. 

In the silence of his heart he admitted his absolute terror of losing Merlin. He could not lose this man. Not now. Not ever. 

There were others that Arthur loved and listened to and cared for. But Merlin was the bedrock on which Arthur’s heart rested, the foundation for the king and for the kingdom alike. Without him, it would all come tumbling down, brick by brick, with Arthur at the bottom bruised and broken and buried in his grief. No, losing Merlin would be unthinkable. Arthur’s heart would not survive such a loss. His body would survive, no doubt, but his soul would become cold and ruthless, driven by revenge like his father’s before him. This was the fear that stalked him when he looked down at Merlin’s lifeless body. It could not be allowed to come to pass. 

“Are we too late?” he said in a low voice after banishing everyone but Gwen and Gaius from Gaius’s rooms. 

Normally so calm when dealing with the wounded, Gaius bit his lip, betraying an uncharacteristic anxiety. “I will need to examine the wound before I can answer that, sire,” he began as he undid Merlin’s belt and began to peel the tunic gently away from where it had become stuck to his skin, soaked black and stinking. 

Despite his condition, this action managed to rouse Merlin from his stupor. He clutched at his tunic when Gaius tried to pull at it, holding on to it with an iron grip to stop him from removing it. 

“I will have to cut your shirt off, Merlin.” 

“But they will see!” Wide-eyed and staring, Merlin clutched Gaius’s arm and darted nervous glances towards him and Gwen. 

“You are among friends, Merlin,” said Gaius. “It is time you trusted us to help you. Here. Take this. It will ease the pain a little.” He bent to administer a potion, which stained Merlin’s lips black as he gulped and lapped at the cup. Stepping back, calmly, Gaius then resumed cutting at the tunic. 

Merlin made a strangled noise as if to protest again, before falling back in a dead faint. His breathing was laboured, coming out in rasping gasps. Arthur started forward, an instinctive desire to protect overriding his normal reticence, and raised a brow.

“Poppyseed,” said Gaius in response to Arthur’s unspoken question. “It will calm him while we work. Can you bring boiled water, sire? Gwen, we will need to soak the bandages.” 

The next hour made for grim work. Several times, while Gaius was working to ease the fabric away, Merlin’s eyes opened and he screamed, a long terrifying noise that sent dread deep into Arthur’s gut. But eventually the tunic loosened. 

Before he removed it, Gaius looked up at Arthur. 

“Arthur,” he said in grave tones. “What you are about to see may shock you. But I beg you to remember the words I spoke to you after I had been held captive in the mines of Kermeray.” 

“What?” Confused, Arthur frowned at him. Cleaning the wound was urgent. Why was Gaius delaying now? 

“Promise me that you will remember.” 

There was no way that Arthur could remember anything much, not with Merlin’s life in the balance, but it was clear that the physician would not continue until Arthur acknowledged whatever his demand meant, so he nodded. 

Nodding back, Gaius turned back to the job in hand and the tunic came free. Gaius discarded it and frowned down at Merlin’s bare torso. 

Arthur blinked. The wound in his side was an angry red, blackening in the middle which Gaius set about cleaning up. But as well as that gash there was a healing scar, a ghost of an earlier injury that Arthur recognised. It was unmistakable. It came from a blow that he had dealt himself, in a moment that was seared onto his memory. 

It was the wound that he had inflicted on the sorcerer, Dragoon, who had killed his father. Which meant that… 

“No.” Arthur stepped back, shaking his head. “No. It can’t be. Not Merlin. No.” 

“Sire?” Gwen looked from Arthur to Gaius and then back again. “Arthur? Arthur, you can’t… surely you can’t believe—” 

“Think about it,” growled Arthur, hardly able to hear his own voice through the angry pounding of his pulse in his ears. “You wondered yourself why the Lamia did not affect Merlin. Didn’t you? Didn’t you? ” 

A distant part of him registered the way that Gwen flinched at his words, and he realised that he was shouting. The surge of his blood and the sudden blanket of despair overwhelmed him and he roared, an instinctive and pained noise that escaped from him, making both Gwen and Gaius back away, alarmed.

He drew in a couple of deep breaths through his nose, before lowering his voice. It was not Gwen he was angry with. She did not deserve to bear the brunt of his rage. 

“Well, here is the reason,” he said in a low, dangerous growl. “Plain for us all to see.”

“Sire, please—” began Gaius. 

He must have been in on this from the beginning. Arthur couldn’t even look at him. 

“Sorcery,” he spat, flinging his arm out to indicate his prone manservant. “Merlin is a sorcerer. You see, Gwen? That’s why. And it was Merlin who killed my father. Wasn’t it, Gaius?” 

“Sire, I—”

“Wasn’t it?” Arthur roared.

“He did not intend to,” said Gaius, as calm and implacable as ever. “Remember what I told you. Sire, I beg you.” 

“I cannot listen to this right now.” 

The sheer force of his anger threatened to consume all vestiges of his self restraint. He backed away towards the door, yelling at them both to leave him alone. 

Gwen caught at his arm, started pleading, but he shook off her hand. His blind rage was too much for him to tolerate physical contact, even from her. It propelled him out of the room, where he slammed closed the door, cursing. 

And then he fled to his chambers. With the last of his strength after the lengthy ride and distress of the day, he wrenched the bar across the door to ensure that none could enter without his permission. Exhausted, breathless from exertion and overcome with grief, he sat on the cold stone flags with his back against the heavy oak door and gave in to his despair. 

Merlin, who was even now lying mortally wounded upon a pallet in Gaius’s chambers, was a sorcerer. Arthur’s Merlin. His Merlin. The man he loved and trusted above all others. A sorcerer.

And Merlin had killed his father. 

Several times over the next few hours, the door rattled and people stood outside knocking to get his attention, but Arthur ignored them all. None of them could bring him any relief. Normally in a situation like this he would talk it over with Merlin. But he could not do that. Not this time.

His father was right. He could trust no-one. Surely, a king was the loneliest man in the kingdom. 

Eventually he made it to his bed. Lying fully-clothed on the covers, he fell into a fitful sleep, his dreams haunted by visions of Merlin: dying Merlin, powerful Merlin, vengeful Merlin. Merlin with eyes flashing golden and his mouth, drawn up into a triumphant rictus. Merlin with his face pallid and covered in a deathly sheen, breathing out his last. Merlin writhing beneath Arthur’s weight, eyes rolled back in ecstasy. Merlin. Merlin, Merlin, Merlin. He infested Arthur’s thoughts like an enchantment. 

When finally he woke, Arthur blinked up at the sunlight that streamed in through the curtains. Someone was pounding on the door. He was still fully clothed and stinking, having had no-one attend to him since his return from the confrontation with the Lamia. 

Through the cacophony of voices that implored him to open his door, there was only one that he could bear to hear. Stiffly, he walked across from his bed, and pulled the door open a crack. 

“Sire,” said Agravaine instantly. “Sire, you must let me in at once. I bring--” 

“Sire!” Leon spoke over Agravaine’s shoulder. “There is a patrol back from--” 

Amid all the knights and courtiers swirling around outside his door was one determined though diminutive figure. He beckoned to her. “My servant is indisposed. Guinevere may enter. The rest of you leave me at once.” 

“But sire,” objected Termagent, plump face ruddy with agitation and self importance. 

“At once!” yelled Arthur. “I will hear no argument.” 

***

Silent at first, Gwen bustled around the room, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts while she tended to his chambers. Years of serving the royal household had taught her that there was no point in her trying to speak until he was clean and ready to start the day. Besides which, she had thoughts and worries enough of her own to occupy her while she worked. There was something comforting about the daily round of chores, though. They kept the hands and body occupied, while the mind was free to sift through problems and consider them one at a time. So, she set to work. She hummed as she bustled, to relieve the silence and afford Arthur some privacy. First she left a basin of warm water that Arthur could use to wash behind a screen. Then she summoned a chambermaid to bring a light breakfast before turning to Arthur’s discarded laundry, mulling over all of her problems as she did. 

The first of which was the state of Merlin. After fighting the Lamia so valiantly, he had fallen prey to it, and the wound it had dealt may have been magical. He had not yet woken up, and she had spent a long night taking turns with Gaius, monitoring his condition. Poor Merlin was still feverish and delirious but Gaius was with him. She grieved for his pain, but this was not a problem that she could resolve straight away, so she turned her head to another. 

Why had Merlin been immune to the Lamia’s attractions? At the time she had assumed that it was because he did not feel romantically attracted to women, a revelation that had come to her during their conversation, although she had not articulated it out loud. It explained so many things about him - most of all, his devotion to Arthur. 

Poor Merlin. She was sure that his feelings for the king were reciprocated, but Arthur would never admit it out loud. Although every unconscious glance and touch of his hand to Merlin’s shoulders betrayed his feelings to those who took care to look. 

But maybe instead it was because of his magic? 

She had witnessed his power first hand, after all. But this was another thing that she hadn’t spoken of out loud, and now Arthur had seen the evidence that Merlin was the sorcerer who had killed his father, and more, he was convinced that Merlin was a traitor. 

This was a vexing conundrum indeed. Frowning, she peered at a stubborn stain on one of Arthur’s linen shirts as if it held all the secrets of the universe, before discarding it into the dirty laundry basket. 

She flung open the window to let in light and air and banish the fuggy miasma of the night. The curtains billowed, so she tied them back, leaving Arthur to wash himself behind a screen. 

Which brought her neatly to the next problem. 

Arthur. 

Well, Arthur was just a man. And him, she could manage. 

The man in question sat at his desk, listlessly pushing cold meats and stale bread around his plate. Every so often, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. She let this continue for a few minutes but eventually she could bear his brooding no longer. 

“Arthur. He is still the same person, you know.” 

His mouth compressed to a mutinous rosebud and he did not look up. 

“What was it that Gaius told you. What did he beg you to remember before tearing away Merlin’s tunic?” Gwen knew the answer to this question already, Gaius having talked it over with her during their long vigil at Merlin’s bedside. “He is hovering between life and death. You can’t let him die without seeing him first.” 

“He killed my father,” Arthur choked. 

“He did not intend to. He was trying to heal him. But Morgana had contrived to reverse the magic.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Gaius told me. He and Merlin found an enchanted necklace that reversed magic on the king’s body after he died. Merlin was trying to heal your father, hoping that it would show you all the good that magic can do. He was devastated when he died.” 

Blinking rapidly, Arthur stared at her dumbly for a moment before lowering his gaze to his desk, where he fiddled with a piece of parchment. 

“I know that sometimes it feels like the world is against you, but there are so many people working behind the scenes on your side, Arthur. In the shadows, like Merlin. Hoping for your success. Helping you.” 

“Gaius said something similar.” 

“Gaius is right.” 

Arthur sighed and pushed his chair back, dropping his quill. He stood up and peered out of the window, leaning his head against the pane. At least he was talking, now. The shadow of gloom that had settled over him was beginning to fade. Maybe he would after all come to forgive Merlin? Hope started to bubble in Gwen’s chest.

He shook his head and pulled away from the window, arms folded. “But there is still a traitor in our midst. You know that.”

She nodded and bit her lip. 

“Is it Merlin? Is Merlin the traitor?” 

He gazed at her with square-jawed intensity, breath hitching as it did when he faced any foe head on. The raw fear on his face betrayed the depth of this terror, as yet unarticulated. The fear that Merlin, his Merlin, that man that he loved, could betray him. Could reject him. Could have been unworthy of his love all along. 

“Of course he is not!” she said, imbuing the statement with all the force of her complete certainty in her friend. “He loves you, Arthur. He loves you more than he loves his own life. It scares me sometimes, just how much he adores you. The lengths he would go to, to protect you. Surely you can see that!” 

“I just… I just don’t know who I can trust any more.” Arthur’s eyes glistened and his throat worked. “And I don’t know who… who has betrayed me. Betrayed Camelot.”

It was to her credit that Gwen didn’t say anything, despite the way that Agravaine’s name kept bubbling up inside her head every time the word traitor was mentioned. There was no point telling him anything - he was too wedded to the idea of his uncle as his only remaining family to hear any word said against it. So she bit her lip and turned away to smooth out a crease in one of Arthur’s shirts. 

“It all makes sense, now. His clumsiness after the coronation. He wasn’t hungover at all. All those times when he said he was in the tavern…”

“He was protecting you,” said Gwen calmly, tutting at a stain on the collar. That would need a boil wash. “From magical threats.” 

“I should throw him in the dungeon,” Arthur added, voice low and gravelly. “Have him executed for treason. My father would. Agravaine would.”

Gwen stiffened. There was no way that Merlin would survive such an experience. He was hovering near death already. 

“But I cannot bring myself to do that,” Arthur added shakily. “In all conscience I know I should imprison him, but the fact is that I cannot. I am not fit to rule. I am too weak to be the king. I should hand the crown to Agravaine.” 

Gwen dropped the shirt with a shudder.

 _Agravaine?_ That slimy, scheming, double-dealing sycophant? Over her dead body.

“Don’t you dare, Arthur Pendragon.” She turned back, hands on hips, anger warring with fondness at this typically Arthurish dilemma. “Don’t you dare say such things. Loving someone, trusting someone who cares for you in return, does not make you weak. It makes you strong.” 

“How on earth does that work?” 

As always when Arthur was in the grip of some crisis of self doubt or another, he looked impossibly young for one who had to shoulder such a heavy burden. His arms folded, he leaned on the window sill, where the refracted sunlight alighted on his head, crowning him in rainbows and rays of gold.

“It _works_ because… because you have friends that you care about, and because you are a better judge of character than your father ever was,” she said, biting her lip while she looked for the words. “And deep down, you know that Merlin would never willingly betray you. Remember the time when he took poison for you? All the times when you’ve been out on patrol when he’s defended you? Is there anyone you would rather have by your side when in peril?” 

A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips, then. “No.”

“Besides which, you have saved one another more times than either of you count. Don’t you think he deserves to tell you his side of the story?”

“You’re right of course. Judgment will have to wait until he has recovered.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “If he ever recovers.” 

“He will,” said Gwen, crossing her fingers behind her back. “I am sure of it.” 

***

When Merlin awoke, it was to the sound of a bird trilling outside his window. His eyes blinked open for a moment but the sunlight was dazzling. He took a moment or two to work out that he was alone in his own chambers next to Gaius’s quarters. His head throbbed and his lips were dry. When he tried to sit up, a searing pain flashed through his side. His head swam and he fell back against something soft. No matter how hard he clenched his teeth, the pain just grew and grew. 

Through the pain penetrated a sensation of something soothing and cool against his forehead, and the sound of a voice, warm and beloved. “Ah, so now he wakes.”

Arthur. Merlin tried to open his mouth to say his name, but nothing came out save a croak, his mouth was so dry. In a vain attempt to moisten it, he dragged his tongue across his lower lip, but it was thick and rough. 

The cool sensation went away. A distant part of Merlin mourned it. But then something wet rested against his mouth. 

“Here,” said Arthur. “Gaius said you would be thirsty. It’s water. If that stays in, you can have some broth later to start getting your strength back.” 

Merlin sucked at it eagerly, gulping in fresh water to quell the burning thirst that scorched his throat. But then, unwelcome memories started to trickle back. How long had he been out of it? Pushing Arthur’s hand away, he felt around his torso, discovering fresh bandages and an area over his ribs where a sudden sharp pain shot through him when he touched it, making him hiss through his teeth. 

“Stop touching it,” Arthur warned. “You’ll dislodge the stitching, and then Gaius will blame me for it, as I’m the one who’s keeping watch over you. And then he’ll subject me to the eyebrow. No-one wants to inflict that on their king.”

Why was Arthur keeping watch over him? Try as he might, Merlin could not remember anything beyond being brought back to Camelot on the pommel of Arthur’s horse. But there was a residue of fear there. He couldn’t think of anything specific, just a nameless sort of dread that settled in his stomach when he tried to cast his mind back. 

“What were you thinking?” said Arthur. “Not telling anyone that you were injured!” 

Through the fog of pain, memories started to return. A sudden panic hit Merlin as he remembered the last time he had been awake. Gaius had peeled away his shirt in front of everybody and beneath it was the scar, evidence of his guilt in the matter of Uther’s death. Arthur must have seen it. Arthur must know about how Uther died, and Merlin’s hand in the whole sorry affair, and now he must hate him. 

That must be why Arthur was watching over him. He was waiting until he woke up to face judgment, because Arthur was above all other things a just and fair man. And then, when Merlin was fully awake and ready to face trial, Arthur would have him executed. Merlin had to get away. Blinking, he squinted against the sunlight that streamed golden and hot through the window, part blinded after so long without consciousness. Mental visions of the pyre swam before his eyes. Clutching his side to dull the pain, he struggled forwards, hoping to regain his feet, to flee, although the gods only knew where he would run to, weak as he was. 

“Don’t try to get up,” admonished Arthur. Strong hands that brooked no argument gripped Merlin’s shoulders, gently pushing him back onto his pillows. “Stay there. I’ll get Gaius.”

“Will you kill me?” whispered Merlin, humiliated at how pathetic both the words and his voice sounded. But then, perhaps Arthur would not kill him; perhaps instead he would send Merlin into exile, far away from him, far away from the man that he loved more than his own life. “Please don’t send me away. I couldn’t bear it. Better to kill me.” 

“I won’t kill you _, idiot_.” Arthur said. “Not unless you insist on trying to get up before you’re ready. You lost a lot of blood. It was touch and go for a while. Now stay here, while I get Gaius.” 

Was Arthur leaving? He couldn’t go yet. Merlin needed to explain. And he didn’t want to be alone. The hands loosened their grip. Hastily, Merlin grabbed for one of them. 

“No! Don’t go. I want to...” he trailed off, not sure how to explain that he didn’t want Arthur to leave his side. Not now, not ever. Not even if… “Arthur, I’m sorry.” He broke off, wracked by a fit of coughing that tugged at the painful rib. He clutched his side, but it really didn’t help. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Time enough to apologise when you’re recovered.” A warm weight settled by his side on the bed, and a cool, moist cloth touched his lips again. 

Sucking gratefully, Merlin fought against the fuzzy blackness that blurred his vision. He had to tell Arthur the truth. He had to. After a moment, he pushed Arthur’s hand away. A pair of concerned blue eyes peered back at him. 

“Why are you doing this?” he began hoarsely. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you are my friend and I couldn’t bear to lose you,” said Arthur with a sudden directness that made Merlin’s breath hitch. 

So Arthur did care about him, after all. Even knowing what he had done. Merlin tamped down the warmth that threatened to spill over into hot tears. 

“But… I... Arthur,” he choked. “I’m sorry about your father. I wanted to save him. I tried…” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I know that, _idiot_. Gaius and Gwen have been most insistent that it was not your fault. And it took me a while to get over it, but I believe them, now. Now stop fretting and rest.” 

“You won’t leave me.” 

“It may have escaped your notice, but you don’t issue the orders around here, _Mer_ lin,” growled Arthur as he dipped the cloth into water. 

“It wasn’t a command, as such. More of a statement of fact.” Merlin sipped at the cloth again. The liquid felt delightfully refreshing and cool against his parched, chapped lips and thick tongue. 

“I’ll have to leave, eventually,” Arthur pointed out, “unless you want me to pee into your chamber pot.” 

Merlin let out a shaky laugh. The dryness around his mouth was already easing. “I suppose so.”

“But I can stay for a while longer.” 

Shifting his weight a little, Merlin settled back against the pillows, gazing up at Arthur, worry still nagging away at his gut. It was hard to believe that Arthur would forgive him, just like that. He had killed his father - albeit accidentally, and with the best possible motives. 

“You’re fretting again, I can tell,” said Arthur drily. 

“What gave me away?” whispered Merlin. 

“You bite your lip when you’re worried.” 

It warmed him for a moment, to think that Arthur knew him so well as to notice such a habit, but then the cold tendrils of guilt and fear started to gnaw at his heart again. 

“Agravaine now.” said Arthur conversationally as if he weren’t about to drop a flaming ballista into the conversation. “He would have let you die. Even though he didn’t know about the fact that you were the sorcerer. He wanted to leave you behind.” 

“He did?” Heart sinking, Merlin settled back against the pillows. So he still had an enemy in Camelot after all. Agravaine had never liked Merlin. Presumably, being so close to Arthur made Merlin a threat to Agravaines nefarious plans. 

“So, I told him that I never leave a man or woman behind. And I told him I would not tolerate that attitude in my knights or council. Then I told him to leave Camelot.” Arthur went on, all nonchalant-like, although Merlin could see that he was watching his reaction closely. “And never to return.” 

Merlin’s mouth dropped open. Arthur exiled his uncle? For him? Inwardly rejoicing, he gazed at Arthur still open-mouthed, wondering how on earth this miracle had been achieved. 

“I’ve been thinking very carefully about who I want to have by my side during my reign,” Arthur added. “And it has become clear to me that he was not offering me advice that was in the kingdom’s best interests.”

Merlin bit his lip to avoid snorting. _And the rest,_ he thought. 

“What will you do to me, then?” 

Arthur shrugged. “Nothing.” 

Nothing? Swallowing, Merlin scanned Arthur’s face for clues. 

“All right then, if it makes you feel better,” said Arthur, smiling faintly, “I’ll promise to have you put in the stocks for a month when you’ve recovered.” 

Merlin huffed out a laugh, wincing as it made pain shoot through his side. 

“That really doesn’t help,” he lied. But his anxiety started to wind down a little at that. If Arthur was threatening to put him in the stocks, then maybe he really had been forgiven. 

“And I’ll have the seamstresses make you some robes fitting for your new station,” Arthur added, eyeing Merlin speculatively. “With feathers. And a spectacular hat.”

“What? No! Not feathers… wait. New _station_?” Merlin frowned. “What new sta—?”

“Yes. Your new station. So you can let go of my hand,” said Arthur. 

“Your hand?” Merlin blinked, then released said appendage. “Sorry.” 

“I should have known you would be clingy.” said Arthur, in tones that Merlin could almost bring himself to believe were fond. “Not to mention a rubbish sorcerer.” 

“I’m not rubbish,” protested Merlin weakly, eyes fluttering closed. 

It turned out that being in terror for your life and for your livelihood was quite exhausting when you’d lost a fair amount of blood. Who would have known? The world started to go all echoey and his attention drifted for a moment. 

Something warm - two somethings, hands perhaps - enclosed his left hand and the beloved voice spoke once more. 

“No, of course you’re not. Or I wouldn’t be appointing you as Court Sorcerer. Now sleep, Merlin.” 

Merlin’s hands were gathered up and placed gently on the blankets, away from his wounded side. It was amazing that fingers that wielded a sword with such skill could be so kind, so tender. For the first time since he had woken, Merlin’s heart settled. His breathing slowed. He felt safe. A gust of warm breath caressed his forehead, followed by the soft touch of lips. 

“Did you just kiss me?” Merlin murmured, lifting one eyelid. 

“I might have done,” said Arthur, gravely. “Is that a problem?”

“Absolutely not,” said Merlin fervently, blinking up at him through sleep-fuddled eyes. 

“In that case,” said Arthur, bending forward. “Let me do it again.”

***

And so it was that the three unwritten principles that governed Arthur's council were established: no sycophants; leave no-one behind; and let the King kiss his court sorcerer whenever he wished, by mutual consent. On that solid foundation, the round table was populated and a legend was forged. In all the long and happy years of his reign, King Arthur Pendragon never once disclosed his criteria for accepting someone into his inner circle. Many tried to trick him into speaking them out loud, but none succeeded. 

***THE END ***


End file.
